Spidertine
by Ahmerst
Summary: A story inspired by The Spider and the Fly, with Ivan as the spider and Alfred the fly. A sort of dark romance, really. Pseudo-vampires are involved. Rus/Ame


Nobody ever came to visit Ivan. Or really, his house. It was _that_ house after all, the kind every well-kept suburban neighborhood had. In a sea of white picket fences and cheery colors, Ivan had the house with the lawn that could not decide if its grass wanted to be overgrown or half dead. It led to his front yard looking like it was a balding man who grew what little hair he had long.

It was not the lawn that kept people away, though. It was the darkened shingles that lined the roof, that flaked off onto the ground like so much dandruff. It was the broken window on the side that Ivan had never bothered to replace. It was the way the outside always looked so damp and cold, even during the dry summer heat.

Yet most of all, it was the fact that the house was haunted that kept them away.

Not that Ivan believed the stories. Tales of shadows in windows and screams in the night did nothing to scare him. And the stories of teens sneaking in and never being seen again was a complete falsity. He would have known if people had been lurking around his house uninvited. He kept tabs on that sort of thing.

Yet the rumors ran wild, and not a soul dared to seek out the truth. It had been years since anyone had come knocking. Trick-or-treaters did nothing but stare from the safety of the sidewalk, door-to-door salesmen bumbled by, and the daily newspaper was thrown at his house from afar.

Ivan's neighbors generally pretended his house did not exist. The ones who did tend to pull up their stakes and move sooner than later. There were the few that had the boldness to make his acquaintance, but they were few and far between and quite gone after a few weeks.

The last three, the three little piglets, as Ivan had dubbed them, were kind souls. Or at least the first one, the one with his house of straw, was. He had come knocking on the door, an apple pie in one hand and a meek smile on his face. His eyes were gray as the clouds and his hair a mousy brown.

He had explained he was new, had moved in only recently to the house next door with his two brothers, all of them immigrants from the Baltic States. Ivan had feigned blissful ignorance, acting as though he had not been watching every box they hauled into their new home, pretending he had not watched as they so carefully put the doormat in front of their door and patted one another on the back.

The little pig's straw house had been blown down in a single breath, an invitation to come inside and have a seat while Ivan served up the pie. The second, with his astute glasses and business-like clothing. had lasted only marginally longer. He had not wanted to step inside for a drink or two as they discussed his missing brother, but Ivan had persevered and the house of sticks had fallen.

The third little pig followed soon after, hardly more than a boy and certainly no man. His red sweatshirt was oversized, his hands lost in the lengths of the sleeves. He had the shakes like Ivan had never seen before, and was the most wary of them all.

Offers to sit beside the fire in the hearth and talk about the whereabouts of his brothers went by the wayside, and motions made to welcome seemed to send him backwards a few steps. The stirrings of anxiety, a sensation Ivan was unaccustomed to, began to creep along his nerves.

Five minutes, that was how long it took to get them across the threshold at most. This snotty kid was holding out, doing his best to peer around Ivan to see inside without moving closer, without getting within arm's reach. The little pig's brick house would not come down, no matter how much Ivan huffed and puffed.

It was the first time Ivan had ever needed to use force to get someone inside. He was not proud of it, but it had gotten the job done. Not to mention after everything was said and done with the trio, he had not been hungry for months.

There was the residual, watered down fear Ivan was used to afterward. The late-night thoughts this was definitely the time he had been caught- but nothing had come of it. It had taken twenty-four days before someone came snooping around. Their landlord, Ivan suspected.

Not much came from the incident beyond a puzzling article in the news. It was hidden away on the third page, five simple paragraphs about the unexpected disappearance of three brothers. Home invasion was ruled out, as was robbery. Wallets were left along with keys. There were molded leftovers in the microwave, and a bath had been drawn. A number was provided at the end along with an urging for those with information to call it, and that was all.

Ivan had taken a pair of scissors to the article and neatly cut it out. He put it on his fridge next to the other news clippings. He had amassed a small collection of snippets pertaining to his house, or acts he had committed, over the years. He read them over with a certain fondness, his favorite a short piece written by a seven-year-old, part of a series of stories by local children the newspaper had taken to printing.

The story was simply titled, "Spider House!" and had the most delightful, if not absurd, details. It claimed there was not only the one, big Spider House, but two smaller versions inside it. They were hotels run by spiders, for spiders. If you stayed in the house too long, you became a spider. Stared at the exterior? Immediate grounds for being turned into a spider. Breathed the air around the house for more than a minute or two? You'd have eight arms before you knew it.

For some reason the author decided there were dinosaur bones in the backyard, which was only half-true. Beyond that the description became cluttered with the words "dark" and "scary," along with the endearing misspellings all children were prone to.

The piece had struck a nerve with the rest of the sleepy town. Not only was the story reprinted once a year every Halloween, but the manor itself came to be known as "Spider House" in remembrance of the tale. While it was not a name Ivan would have picked, he accepted it readily enough. After all, spiders were quite welcome in his home.

Ivan had liked spiders since the dawn of his life, felt a certain sort of kinship with them. While others wiled away their hours in front of the glare of a television or computer screen, he was content to watch the daily lives of his spiders. Especially when they happened to ensnare a fly.

He thought the flies ungrateful, the squirming little bugs. With their incessant buzz and rapid beat of wings, fighting against their fate until venom and fangs claimed their lives. Ivan had watched with what care spiders subdued their victims. The warm, threaded cocoons they hand-tailored to fit, the time they took in stilling their prey. It was kindness- not cruelty- that made them do that.

Ivan liked to think he was just as kind. If no one would come to him for his kindness, he would go out and bring it to them. Or bring them home. While Ivan had no qualms with leaving his house to get dinner, he preferred to eat within the confines of his house.

It did not take much to get a meal for him. A sleek, black tailored to fit suit, shined leather shoes, and eyes the color of lavender tended to draw others to him. They enjoyed having something to touch and caress, and his scarf fell victim to the plucking and teasing of their hands more often than not. They would follow the scarf like a cat batting a toy all the way back to Ivan's house.

With his stomach giving a single rumble to remind him of his hunger, Ivan finished adjusting his scarf and opened the front door. The sky was prematurely blackened by heavy clouds that threatened rain, and the street lights flickered with unreliable light.

Ivan walked down the pathway with his mind already calculating, deciphering what he desired most for a meal. French cuisine he enjoyed greatly, but for once his taste buds yearned for something less rich. Mediterranean was easy on his stomach, but never left him feeling quite full. Chinese he had indulged in last week.

What Ivan wanted was something filling, both sweet and salty at once. Something that would leave him feeling so full he would never wish to eat again. He wanted junk food. Easy, quick, cheap. While it was not exactly healthy, having it once in a great while could not hurt.

Ivan stepped onto the sidewalk with a deep breath, mulling over where to find his meal. Waiting in the dark alley next to a nightclub worked well. Without fail an intoxicated party-goer would wander outside, separated from their friends and the frothing, dancing masses inside. Yet more often than not, alcohol was not the only drug running through their system.

Ivan did not like having a meal only to end it by wondering why his hands were so big, or why the walls were speaking to him.

Prowling outside of bars was easiest, picking off the lonely folk that came to drink their troubles away. More often than not they left him with a pleasant buzz, and they came along with him freely enough, happy to have someone to laugh with. They never did seem to notice they were the ones doing all the laughing.

The sound of a breath that was not his own grabbed Ivan's attention before he could linger too long on hot spots. He turned very slowly to look at the source, calm and careful, completely unruffled by the intrusion into his thoughts.

A young man was standing not five feet away, his body facing the house, his head turned to look at Ivan. His wide blue eyes captured the surprise and delayed horror of a deer facing an oncoming car, and he appeared incapable of blinking.

"Hello," Ivan said.

"Hello," said the stranger, still transfixed. His blond hair ruffled in the wind, a cowlick jutting up in greeting.

There was a moment of silence as Ivan waited for the man to regain his bearings. He glanced casually from side to side as the seconds passed, going through his usual routine of checking for witnesses on the quiet street. Finding the surroundings devoid of life, he turned his attention back to the stunned man. He looked like he needed a kick start.

"Out for an evening stroll?" Ivan asked.

It did the trick, and the man snapped back to reality with a nervous laugh. "Nah, not really. Just doin' my usual door-to-door thing." He motioned to a red wagon he had in tow, stacked high with boxes. "I was actually just, uh, thinkin' about giving your door a knock, but then I was like, there's no way anyone lives there."

"I live there." Ivan attempted a pleasant, polite smile.

"Y-yeah, you do." The nervousness from the man's laugh had trickled into his voice. He looked like he had met a celebrity. Except the celebrity was a serial killer. He glanced back at his wagon once. "Wanna buy something?"

"I would be delighted," Ivan said sweetly. "But I'm afraid I've left my checkbook in the house, you'll have to come to the door with me." If there was one thing Ivan liked more than takeout, it was delivery. He started to backtrack to his door, assured by the squeak of wheels and the second set of footsteps that he was being followed.

Ivan unlocked the front door and held it open, motioning for the man to step in before him. Manners were always a must. But the man merely gave him a dazed smile, still recovering from his surprise meeting with someone who lived in the famed Spider House.

"Won't you step into my parlor?" Ivan asked, his voice low, coaxing. "Surely you do not wish to wait out in the cold."

"Parlor? Like the ice cream kind or the funeral kind?" the stranger joked. "But really, I'm cool out here. I don't wanna track mud in your house or anything."

Ivan debated pushing it, assuring the man dirt was no problem, that every surface in the house was covered with a fine layer of dust. However, he did not want to risk putting the man off. Instead, he remained in the doorway, looking down at the blond.

"What exactly are you selling?" Ivan asked, flicking on the parlor light.

"Uh, lots of stuff." For a second the man's eyes went blank as he retreated in his mind, no doubt going over the usual speech he gave when a door was opened to him. "Also, my name is Alfred."

He stuck out his hand and Ivan shook it. Alfred's skin was warm, his grip firm. Ivan half-wondered if he could get away with yanking Alfred inside. The exchange was over before he could act.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Alfred. I am eager to see what you have to sell me."

That earned Ivan a skeptical look. Though, if Alfred was truly wary, he chose not to disclose it.

"Well, first I gotta explain what I'm doing and all." Alfred stopped, readied himself. "Hello, I'm Alfred─ you know that already, but I gotta give my speech─ so yeah, I'm Alfred from Just Cause Deliveries, we bring happiness door to door, 'just cause'.'" He gave Ivan a dopey, sheepish grin. Weak embarrassment radiated from him.

Ivan could not help but think of how fitting the company's name was. Alfred was certainly bringing a bit of happiness and then some to his door. He watched as Alfred took to preparing himself again, eyes downcast. He had such pretty eyes. Blue, but not the usual superficial hue Ivan was used to seeing on billboards and glossy magazines when he ventured out.

The color was deep yet delicate, almost iridescent. It reminded him of a fly's wings. Able to grant flight, but so easily torn and impossible to repair. They had a thoughtful light in them, constantly thinking, constructing, and deciding. Very much alive in a way Ivan liked.

"Okay," Alfred started again, clapping his hands together, "I'm here to offer you a fine supply of goods. I've got cookies, magazine subscriptions, wrapping paper and... and stuff like that."

"Alfred, how long have you had this job?"

"This is kinda my first day." He looked up at Ivan with concern. "I'm sucking at it, aren't I?"

"Not in the least, Alfred. You merely sound, let us say, unpracticed." It was a little early to take a shot at Alfred, but Ivan knew the best ways to reel a meal in.

The first step was to say their name a lot. People loved hearing their own name, it was like a song they could never get enough of, would want to listen to day and night, a melody that let them know someone was talking directly to them. The second was flattering them stupid, which was a technique to handle with care. Lay it on too quick, too thickly, and they would not trust you for the world.

The last method was to voice their insecurities for them. It was best to go about it carefully. Saying someone had a lazy eye or walked with bowed-legs was not going to get you anywhere. To prey on their mental being was better. Perhaps comment that they seemed particularly distraught over the subject of family or work, mention on a barely noticeable stutter that seemed to come from bad nerves.

The important thing was not to leave them hanging. Once you snagged them, had cut right to their vulnerable core, you had to act. Offer a listening ear, or a shoulder to lean on, an anonymous therapist who would listen without judgment and had nothing to gain by spreading secrets told in confidence. He had yet to find someone immune to the tactic, and Alfred was no exception.

His face crumpled for a split second, his forehead creasing with worry as his shoulders slumped. It was followed by the awkward shift as he tried to pull himself together, to regain his happy mask. He ended up with a fake smile that did not reach his eyes, and a voice filled with forced confidence.

"I could definitely be trying to sell this stuff better, but I've kinda been poundin' the pavement since this morning, so I'm pretty wiped."

"Have you sold quite a bit of your wares, then?"

Alfred took to nibbling on his lower lip, sucking on the soft pink flesh as he thought. "Not much. People don't really buy magazines anymore, and the girl scouts beat me to the cookies. There was a nice lady who bought some wrapping paper, though. She had a lot of cats and called me 'sonny boy.'"

"She sounds like a lovely person," Ivan said. "But to be out all day, and on your feet no less, surely you must want to take a seat?"

Alfred shook his head and laughed. "Nah, if I sit down I'll never get back up. I can take my trusty wagon and get on my way; I don't wanna bother you with all my junk. Unless─" Here he looked optimistic. "─you were still interested?"

"You have my rapt attention, Alfred," Ivan assured. It was time to move on to the second part of his tactic, to lend help after striking a blow. "While your inexperience shows, you have the natural charm of a salesman. I am sure with practice you will improve. And perhaps are nervous selling things to a stranger? If that is so, do not let it stop you. I am your friend, and I am a good friend. Do you know what good friends do?"

Alfred's head cocked to the side. "Watch scary movies together and go on double dates?"

"Yes, Alfred, but more importantly, they help one another. And as your good friend, I will help you."

"Seriously? Thanks, man." Alfred's grin was genuine this time. "What're we going to do?"

"You are going to tell me about whom you are and why you picked this job. And do not be telling me lies. Friends do not lie to one another."

"Oh, okay." Alfred blinked. "Where should I start?"

"Anywhere."

Alfred nodded. "Okay. Uh, let's see; guess I'll start with the job stuff. I used to work at the hardware store down on Stonerow, y'know the place?"

"Ah, of course." Ivan had never heard of it.

"I worked there for three years, but they closed down a few months back. Ever since then I've been looking for something else, but you know how the economy is. Uh─ wait. Lemme rewind first. About a year ago my older brother Arthur moved back to England, said he couldn't stand this place anymore." Alfred sighed and scuffed his foot against the ground. "So that left me and my twin Matt, and we still had to pay rent of course.

"Being a family kind of guy, I figured that instead of sittin' around here and waiting for Arthur to come back, we'd go to him. He makes it sound like England's so nice and all, like a fairy-tale or something. Plus it's good to travel, get all exposed to other cultures.

"Anyway, like six months after Arthur left, Matt and I saved up enough for another ticket. I didn't want him to have to be all on his own here so I told him he should take it. He wasn't all that keen, and I maybe sorta had to guilt him into it, but he took it eventually."

"And then you were left to pay the rent on your own?" Ivan asked. What a sob story this kid had, putting him out of his misery would be doing him a favor.

"Mmhmm. I almost made it, too. I was _this_ close to getting my ticket, and then the store shut down. I should'a seen it coming. Business was slow in the spring. The boss said things would pick up in the summer. Not that it did. Autumn wasn't any better, and the shop closed up."

"Could you have asked your parents to help you?"

Alfred gave a strange, full-bodied shiver. The sort of movement that came with unpleasant memories. He mumbled a handful of words under his breath

"What about a girlfriend?" Ivan ventured.

"I don't─ I'm not... uh. There isn't one. A girlfriend, I mean. Girls are cool and all, but yeah. I'm not super-big on them," Alfred said. His fingers toyed with the zipper of his bomber jacket, the weathered, wrinkled leather a stark contrast to his unlined face.

"Ah, I am the same way."

Alfred's entire expression brightened. "Really?"

"Yes. Women are nice, beautiful like art, but not what I desire." He winked at Alfred. Not the quick, shy wink of a schoolgirl aimed at a class crush, but the assured, steady wink of a man who knows what he wants and how to get it.

He was rewarded with a pretty blush from Alfred, a spot of red tipping his ears. He had such a nice face for it. His cheeks held the round, almost cherubic quality of youth while his jaw was the more defined, more handsome look of a young man. He was downright fetching.

Ivan hummed to himself as Alfred turned to his wagon, crouching down as he sorted through the boxes. The universal rule that playing with food was improper never applied to Ivan. He loved the lure of sweet words, the power to charm with ease.

He loved the wonderful instant in which his prey realized what it was in for. There was the sudden fight they put up as they found their body pinned between him and the wall, the ineffective thrashing that followed, their bodies unintentionally grinding against him, generating heat and friction.

But the biting was the best. The feeling of canines sinking into living flesh, the pierce of teeth through thin skin. The flood of hot blood against his tongue, how it gushed with every beat of the victim's heart. His head would swim, body flooding with the warmth coursing through him.

Then the struggling would stop. The trashing would become a subdued writhing; the blood flowed less and less freely. That was when Ivan got to chewing. It was never something he planned to do, an automatic response more than anything, a last try for _more._ They'd give up soon after, go limp and fold in on themselves. That was Ivan's least favorite part.

To know he was once again alone until his hunger came back, forced to laze away his days in a spider-infested house no one dared to come near. Bodies did not make good company. Good mulch for his sunflowers, yes, but not all that keen on conversation.

Alfred would last longer than a few minutes, though. He had that fire that burned late into the night. If only he would step inside, the fun would really start. Their simple banter was nothing more than prelude, barely enough to tide Ivan over. The longer Alfred stood on the doorstep, the more likely it was someone would spot him.

Ivan could not stand letting loose ends live, and a rash of people going missing on a single night was something best avoided.

"Okay, so this here is my favorite stuff," Alfred said as he stood back up and turned around, arms full of miscellaneous boxes. "This one," he said, motioning with his chin, "are the best cookies in the world of cookiedom."

Ivan refrained from wrinkling his nose. Cookies crumbled, and Ivan liked food with substance, that he could work at without worry. Like the prime cut of a flank. He was not picky about what particular species it came from.

"You don't like cookies, huh?"

"On the contrary, Alfred," Ivan said, taking on a dramatic tone. "My Kingdom for a cookie."

Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. Great, even. Like, way great. Can I put you down for a box?"

"Four boxes."

Alfred's eyes shone with happiness. "You're the best," he said. And then, after a mental calculation that caused his tongue to peek out from between his lips, "That means I've got a whole point now."

"A point?"

"Yeah. The company doesn't pay me hourly wages or nothin'─ which is way shady, I know─ but if I get enough points I can get a plane ticket to anywhere in the world. So that works out for me. If they paid me actual money I'd use it to buy a ticket anywhere."

"I take it you will be traveling to England?"

"You know it."

"And how many points do you need to get a ticket?"

Alfred's cheerful demeanor faltered as he put the boxes back in his wagon. "A few."

"How many is a few?"

Alfred scuffed his foot against the ground. "Five-hundred."

"That is a lot of cookies and wrapping paper needing to be sold."

"And magazines," Alfred added.

"And magazines," Ivan agreed.

Alfred sighed and set his boxes back down, kicked listlessly at a wagon wheel. He looked like a great, sulking child. One who was at risk of losing the roof over his head and the food on his plate.

"I do not mean to be snooping, but how will you afford your rent without a proper salary?" Ivan asked, taking a step toward Alfred.

"I figured I could get five-hundred points before I had to deal with any of that. They just─ they made it sound so easy. The guy who told me about it said he was on a plane to the Bahamas after a week. I bet he was a big fat liar."

"It is possible."

Alfred rocked back on his heels, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I swear I'm not usually this dumb. I can be slow, yeah, but not stupid. I got all excited, though. Figured that for once things were gonna go well, that maybe you could get a plane ticket by selling things like you did in middle school."

Alfred had to be one of the last few romantics, Ivan thought. The kind who believed in dream jobs, honest people, and, most likely, love at first sight. The kind of idealist who wants to believe life could be perfect, good would win over evil, world peace was possible, and poverty would soon be a thing of the past.

In other words, gullible and easy as a lamb to lead. An opportunity too good to be true was an opportunity to be taken to him. And he was in the right mood, the downtrodden, the weary warrior, the one down on his luck and looking to win.

"We are friends, yes?" Ivan asked.

Alfred looked up, gave a half-smile. "You bet your boots. Heck, I wouldn't tell half of this stuff to someone who wasn't my buddy. I hope I'm not being all scary-like, or anything. You can tell me to shut it if you don't wanna listen."

"Listening is what friends do," Ivan assured. "And they also share."

Alfred's smile turned quizzical. "Uh, yeah, I guess so. Can't say I have much to share at the moment."

"You do not need to be sharing with me, Alfred. I would like to be the one sharing."

"I'm all ears, pal."

"My house, it is very empty, you see? I have no one to keep me company. So many rooms go unused. I am thinking maybe you would like to occupy one?"

"Oh, uh, that's sweet of you, but I don't know if I can really afford it─"

"But I am willing to share my home with you, Alfred. Sharing is free."

Alfred stopped, stared, and seemed unable to comprehend the offer. His lips moved without making sound, and his fingers took up playing with his zipper again. Ivan took a step back into the house and made a sweeping gesture with his hand.

"I would be happy to give you a tour."

That broke the spell. Alfred snapped back to life and his eyes brightened, filled with a wild curiosity. "A tour? Of the _Spider House?"_ He clasped a hand to the doorframe, as though he were preparing to pull himself in, but his feet remained rooted to the ground.

Ivan smiled wryly. One step; that was all it would take for Alfred to get inside. Ivan's throat was parched, his mouth impossibly dry. There was a dull ache in his upper palate no amount of prodding with his tongue could ease. He would have promised Alfred a tour of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon if he thought it would get him inside.

"I─ Sorry, I'm not trying to be a dolt or anything but this is kind of totally boggling my mind. Seriously. Living here? This place scared me to death when I was a kid, I swear. Heck, after I moved here and saw it for the first time I wrote about it in class."

Ivan watched Alfred's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and repressed the urge to lick his lips. "Did you now?"

"Oh, yeah. It was in the paper and everything; I think they reprint it around Halloween, too. S'pretty embarrassing though. Back then I thought being near the house would somehow turn you into a spider." Alfred scratched the back of his head and gave a bashful smile. "Silly, huh?"

Ivan's brows furrowed. "And there were dinosaur bones in the backyard?"

"I was really into dinosaurs that week." Alfred covered his face with his hands, his skin reddening. "And then I decided I was a robot the next."

"And how did that end?"

Alfred peeked out from behind his fingers. "Arthur said robots didn't get to eat dessert so I stopped being one. And, uh, sorry for naming your house."

"I do not mind, but I must say I wonder how you came up with it." Ivan had never told anyone about the spiders he lived with.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Man, it was so long ago. It's one of those things that stick in your head no matter how old you get y'know? Like one of those things that seem so real at the time, but then you get older and figure it had to be a crazy dream."

"A crazy dream?""

Alfred's hands slid away from his face, his expression grim. "Yeah. I had been playing with Arthur in the park. He was on the swing and I was pushing him, but then I accidentally pushed too hard and he fell off. He got all mad and thought I did it on purpose and said he was going home. I didn't wanna leave so I didn't follow him when he walked away. Figured he'd come back and all, not that he did."

Ivan managed a placating look. "That was not very kind of him."

"No kiddin'. That's Arthur, though. He's got himself a real temper. After I figured I was going to have to find my way home, I got to walkin'. I wasn't all that familiar with the area so I ended up a few blocks away, bumblin' around and pretending I knew where I was. And then, I saw this place." Alfred nodded his head at the interior. "And there was a light on."

Ivan watched as Alfred cringed, his thoughts probably jumping ahead of his story.

"There was someone in the window. And they─ they had so many arms." Alfred gave another full-bodied shiver and hugged himself. "It sounds crazy, but I saw it. The man in the window had eight arms. Eight _entire_ arms. Like, they all moved independently and─ and..."

Alfred shut his eyes tight, cringing away from his own words. Ivan said nothing, merely listened to Alfred's shallow breathing, how it hitched as his chest rose, and ended in a whine as he breathed out. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, muscles tensed and ready to flee, to escape from the memory and the house that instigated it.

Ivan quietly calculated how quickly he could drag Alfred inside and subdue him, if the situation called for it. He debated whether or not Alfred was a screamer. If so, was he the kind to have a blood-curdling shriek that would rouse suspicion? He looked like a kicker, too, which would be a hassle. Ivan liked his shins unharmed and free of nasty bruises.

Most of all, he steeled himself for the actual act. Letting Alfred go on his way was not an option. The hungry lion did not allow an impala in its clutches go because it maybe, sort of, _nearly_felt bad for it. Emotion was not part of the food chain. Survival was what it all boiled down to in the end.

"Hey, Ivan?" Alfred asked, snapping Ivan's scheming mind back to the present.

"Yes, Alfred?"

"Well, uh. You know what I heard, pal?"

Ivan's eyebrow arched reflexively. That word. i_Pal/i_. Ol' buddy, ol' pal. Chum. Amigo. Friend. They all preceded the same thing. A request, a desire, a wish to be fulfilled. The word to calm, to reestablish a relationship before it was tested. What could Alfred want?

"Please, enlighten me," Ivan said evenly.

"I heard on the news a few weeks back, that, like, you can hug someone for awhile and they'll feel better," Alfred blurted in an entire breath. "Not that you have to hug them forever or anything, only like forty seconds."

"And have you tested this?"

"Not really, no. I've been meaning to but there's not really anyone around to test it on."

Alfred stared expectantly at Ivan. The look was almost puppyish, pleading and innocent, yet somehow intense to the point that Ivan could not look away. He may as well offer the kid a hug. It was a win-win situation: Alfred would calm down, and Ivan could easily pull him inside one step at a time, have the door closed and bolted before Alfred knew it.

"Alfred, would you like to test it now?"

A grin broke across Alfred's face, full of white teeth and relief. "No time like the present, right?" He opened his arms to Ivan.

Ivan grudgingly stepped outside. "Would you mind doing this?" He held his hands to his chest. "My back is bad," he lied, "better you don't touch it."

"Oh," Alfred said. He put his hands to his chest, elbows tucked in at the sides. "Like this?"

"Yes."

Ivan bundled Alfred into his arms, holding him tightly, making sure Alfred's hands were pinned to his chest, useless against attack. Alfred fidgeted for a second, shifted his weight from foot to foot as he made himself comfortable. Ivan rested his head on Alfred's shoulder, nose nuzzling against the flesh of his neck.

He could sense the pulse that lay beneath it, feel the lazy beat of his own heart coming to life, syncing with Alfred's. Ivan smiled at the realization of how close it was, that taste of blood and tendon, of muscle and fat. A fraction of an inch, a sliver of a centimeter, rushing hot and fast right beneath the surface.

Alfred unwound, his body growing more and more lax the longer Ivan held him. He counted the seconds slowly, hesitating on each number. By thirty-eight Alfred was like putty, his breath coming easily, long and drawn out like one deep in slumber. He did not budge at forty seconds in. Nor at fifty.

He still had not moved after a full two minutes.

Ivan had to admit this test seemed a success, even for him. It had been a lifetime since he had been able to hold someone close that was not in fear for their life or balancing on the cusp of death. Maybe this was how other people felt when they hugged other people. Not that Ivan was "other people."

"Other people" lived for themselves. They moved and changed and made their way in the world. They had relationships, held jobs. They could sate their thirst with a glass of water, silence the rumble of their stomachs by opening a cupboard. They were not slaves to their hunger like Ivan was.

"Why do spiders do that?" Alfred asked abruptly, cutting off Ivan's darkening thoughts.

"Do what?"

Alfred wriggled a hand free and gestured behind Ivan. "Look."

Ivan let his arms slip from Alfred, settling on the slight curve of his waist as he turned his head to look. A spider had made its home in a nook near his doorway, its web tidy and neat, small enough not to be noticed at first. It was fast at work on a fly that had made the mistake of getting too near.

"They do that to eat," Ivan said coolly, as though explaining it to a small child.

"I know what it's going to do to the fly," Alfred said. "I mean, why is doing that when it already has another fly?"

Ivan squinted, finding the second fly Alfred had mentioned after a careful moment of scrutiny. It wasn't moving, but something told him it was very much alive.

"The spider is lonely," Ivan declared, letting his hand rest on the small of Alfred's back. It fit perfectly.

Alfred gave an incredulous laugh. "Spiders get lonely?"

Ivan knew the loneliness spiders experienced all too also lived for their hunger. Yet this one─ this one was living for itself. Setting aside company, company that should have been food. It was fighting against the lot it was given, making lemonade out of lemons.

Ivan looked at Alfred. At his kind face and friendly eyes, took in the smell of him, that touch of pool-water, of chlorine and sunscreen mixed together. Like all of the things Ivan would never experience. Alfred met Ivan's gaze and grinned, his head cocking cheerily to the side. He was not afraid. He was eager, lively, willing to experience anything once. He looked like the kind of person who lived for himself.

Ivan decided it was about time he lived for himself too. He leaned in lightning quick, snatched a kiss from Alfred's lips before he could pull away. There was the sharp, shocked breath as Alfred noticed how close Ivan was, then the thick silence, the tender press of lips.

It stirred a second, wilder sense of hunger in Ivan. There was still the need for flesh, but it was deeper, it coursed through his veins, made his fingertips twitch, caused his stomach to twist and knot. It was strangely pleasant, a kind of ache that felt right.

Alfred made a confused choking noise when Ivan ended the kiss. His tongue slid over his lips, licked nervously. He started to say something, stopped, then tried again. It came out in a jumble, a heap of syllables and sounds that crashed into one another. He did not look mad, or upset. Confused, yes. Startled, possibly.

"What was that for?" Alfred finally managed, he voice tight with distress, as though he were expecting this to be some kind of joke.

"I am living for myself," Ivan said.

"Is that some kind of new-age thinkin'?" Alfred asked skeptically.

"I suppose."

Alfred regarded Ivan with a certain wariness. Ivan kept his face expressionless, his eyes devoid of the warmth that was kindling in his chest, rushing past his ears. He wondered if that was how the spider felt, its tangled friend at its side as it sated itself on other insects.

"Well tell your new-age thinkin' a proper date is in order before any more kissing goes down," Alfred said. There was the slightest pull of a smile at his lips, a devilish gleam of teeth. He sobered a second later. "And don't think I'm easy or anything for letting you get away with that first one."

"You seem to imply that more will follow," Ivan teased. His heart fluttered at the sight of Alfred's following blush. It was such a pretty thing, a tea-rose pink against sun-kissed skin.

"Maybe I am," Alfred countered, turning his nose up in a feigned gesture of haughtiness. It faded in seconds flat. "But maybe there won't be," he said seriously. "I mean, you know I'm gonna move. So why start something, right? Not that I'm, like, assuming we're going to end up in a way awesome and committed relationship, but what if?"

Ivan had not thought of that. He tended not to think about things that were never going to happen. He liked the idea of being with Alfred, though. This young man with his pretty looks and kind attitude, his drive and energy endless. Ivan tried to picture Alfred as his boyfriend.

He did not like the term.

It sounded young and inexperienced, nothing beyond puppy love and awkward hand holding. Ivan tried to think of him as his lover next. The term, once precious and full of meaning, had become tacky, overused to the point where it was loathsome.

It seemed there was no term that was quite right for what Ivan wanted Alfred to be. Each word that came after "his" was wrong. His beau, his beloved, his significant other. They all made him nauseous. He dropped the pet names.

Ivan wanted Alfred to be _his_. It fit perfectly for him, struck the right chord in his mind. He thought of an old valentine's card he had found many years ago, blown by the wind onto the pathway of his house, a muddy footprint stamped on the front.

_"_Be mine, valentine," had been written inside.

Ivan would make Alfred his. i_Be mine, valentine/i,_ he repeated in his head. He had burned the card in the fireplace, but he had never forgotten those words. People liked to want and be wanted. To be valentines, to ask others to be theirs. Ivan did not have their candy hearts or pink cards, but he had words Alfred wanted to hear.

"I'll follow you to England," Ivan said softly, whispering it against the shell of Alfred's ear. He hugged Alfred tightly, kept him still.

"Y'mean it?"

"Of course I do."

It was Alfred's turn to kiss Ivan. His lips moved against Ivan's, warm and supple, soft as a rose's petals. He hummed and sighed softly as he did so, the noises of contentment vibrating in the kiss. It fanned the flames of Ivan's hunger, and he found himself disconnected from thought beyond taking in the dizzying sensations and wonderful tastes.

He did not notice when Alfred wriggled his hands free and draped them over Ivan's shoulders, or when he hands started to fall, lightly trailing along his back. He did notice when Alfred froze up, though. When his body went ridged, stiff as a board, when the kiss ended suddenly.

"What's wrong with your back?" Alfred squeaked. "There was something─ it moved."

"Shh," Ivan soothed. It was time to act; he ducked in for one last kiss, nipping Alfred's lower lip in the process, feeling his fangs catch on the skin for a split second.

Alfred winced and made a hissing noise. His finger touched at his lower lip, drawing it away to find the slightest tinge of pink. Droplets of blood began to well where Ivan had bitten him. Alfred's reaction was muted at best, nothing beyond a mild frown and a sullen glance. Moments later he was tottering unsteadily on his feet, like a sapling swaying in the wind.

Ivan unclasped his hands from behind his back, stretching and flexing fingers and joints that ached from being linked together for too long. His hands emerged from his coat like nocturnal creatures venturing into the world as the sun set, not quite sure of themselves. One reached out to turn the parlor light off, another idly adjusted his scarf.

It was easy enough to catch Alfred when he stumbled forward into Ivan's waiting arms. He seemed unconcerned that the pseudo-nightmare from his childhood had returned, was holding him with those eight arms that had frightened him so.

"Won't you step into my parlor?" Ivan asked, hefting Alfred over his shoulder.

"Yeah," Alfred slurred. Ivan could hear the sleepiness in his voice, the dwindling will to keep conscious. "I need a bit of a lie down, I think. I'll be on my way in a seccy."

"Oh, no," Ivan said, carrying Alfred inside and closing the door with one hand. "You'll have to stay for dinner."

* * *

><p>AN:

-Many thanks to 15anime4ever15 foe beta'ing this, and gutennachte for suggesting the name of the company Alfred would work for. That was art.

-This was supposed to be raunchier. Somehow, it didn't happen.

-Apologies for the ridiculous logic in this one. How does Ivan pay his bills? Where does he get money from? All that stuff, I don't know. This is one of those fics where you're not supposed to think about it too much.

-OH MAN. Back to The Companion. Actually, I already have 8k words written with the upcoming chapter (I think I'll have to split it in two so it's not a ridiculously big one).

When that's done, Pretty in Pink will reign supreme in my writing world.

Speaking of writing and worlds and all that, I made a tumblr. This is related to writing because I will be posting previews there. Right now there are only previews for Spidertine, but more will come, and for other things, of course. If you want to add me, you can find me at ahmerst . tumblr. com

Just without the spaces, of course.


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